Caught Between Midnight and Dawn
by Not A Ghost3
Summary: She promised him she would return to him, and she always keeps her promises...Leroux


**Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.**

 **This was written for Angel of Iowa's horror story contest with the prompt being: The cry echoed off the wall: "Erik! I have returned!"**

 **This is my longest horror one-shot yet, so I hope you all like it! :)**

* * *

 ** _Caught Between Midnight and Dawn_**

"Christine, please..." Erik whispered, leaning down to brush his lips across his wife's pale hand. "Stay with me, please..."

"Erik- do not...don't cry, there's no need for tears..." Christine choked out, her voice barely audible. She took a shaky breath, her eyelids growing heavy.

"Christine, you can't do this to your Erik, he will kill himself! Please- please!" Erik cried, his voice becoming hysterical.

"Shhh..." Christine hushed him, closing her eyes for a moment before slowly reopening them. "We shall see one another again, I promise...if the good Father allows it, you will see me again one day..." Her voice faded out and she let her hand drop beside the bed.

Erik reached out and took her frail hand into both of his, incasing it as if it were a precious jewel, then gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Christine, I love you," Erik breathed, staring at her eyes and then watching the brilliant blue disappear under her eyelids once more. Christine took a shuddering breath and let her hand fall limp in Erik's grasp-

Then all was still.

Erik scooted closer to Christine's body, falling on his knees in the process. He reached out his trembling hand towards her face, tracing each delicate feature with his fingers as he went. He bent his head down to rest in her lap before pursing his lips and grasping his hand around the pillow that his wife's head now eternally rested on.

And then he wept.

Tears poured down his sunken cheeks, falling onto the blankets that covered Christine's chest. Her chest that would never again move, never again breathe. He raised up abruptly and stared down at her bodice, waiting to see the gentle rise and fall of her chest- willing her to breathe again for him.

But she wouldn't. _Couldn't_.

Erik squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, not willing to accept the hard truth that was staring him in the face:

 _Christine was dead._

His Christine! This was never meant to happen- no, after all this time, after everything he had been through, after all those years of wanting nothing more than a taste of normality, this shouldn't have happened, he deserved better. He was supposed to have a living bride, a companion for the rest of his miserable life, but no, life never swayed to his liking.

He clenched his fists and raised himself up so that he now towered over his deceased wife's body. His body shook, teeth grinding together. The room seemed to go hazy as he lashed out in blind anger. He cursed himself, he cursed the unfairness of life, he cursed the God that Christine so fondly talked about, he cursed death itself for being so vicious when it was usually so welcoming. He threw the chair that he had been seated in earlier across the room, watching it crash into the wall with a loud 'thud'. Seething, he ripped open Christine's wardrobe, tearing all the garments out of it and flinging them across the room. He beat the doors of the wardrobe with his fists until a hole large enough for a head to fit through had been knocked out of the wood. Erik continued to hit and smash anything in sight, only stopping when he felt a warm liquid trickling down his hands. He unclenched his hands and looked down disgusted at them, bloodstained as they were from his destruction. He took a deep breath, letting fresh, angry tears roll down his face.

Erik fell to his knees, broken on the inside and feeling as if he'd been slashed in two. He put his head in his hands, distraught and lost for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Christine had been his home, Christine had brought him back to the light, Christine had seen the beauty in him, Christine had loved him...

But if she loved me, why did she kill herself? Erik's mind immediately wondered.

It was an accident, his mind quickly corrected itself.

She didn't know what she had gotten into. She was innocent and naive, it wasn't her fault, she wasn't the one responsible. Perhaps it was his own fault, after all he was the one who insisted on keeping the damn gypsy tonics on hand- for safe keeping he had told himself, away from everything else so that they could do no harm. But Christine hadn't known that, no, she had only been curious-

Erik stopped in the middle of his train of thought, refusing to think anymore on the subject.

Finally, he raised his heavy head to look up at Christine.

He knew what had to be done.

With a quick kiss to her forehead, he walked out of the room and into the hallway. He ran his hand along the wall as he walked past. Three doors down and he stopped, his hand resting on the strip of wall between the third and fourth door. He rapped four time before the wall swung open, revealing a dark room filled with various tools. He took a few steps in, not bothering to light the gas lamp. He groped around until his hand wrapped itself around a handle and he tugged. There was a very loud crash and then silence as he pulled a shovel from the pile of useless keepsakes he had acquired over the years. Along with it, he snatched up a lantern he had hanging on the wall, making a mental note to light it before he left.

Taking a deep breath, he retreated from the room, not bothering to reseal the secret entrance. He trudged down the hall and stopped off at his room to light the lantern before continuing on. He walked right past the room that held Christine, for he refused to look in and decided to focus all his efforts on reaching the front door instead. With a twist of the knob, Erik opened the door and stepped out.

Mist shrouded the lake, hanging low and thickly encasing Erik's lower body. Holding his lantern up, he set out in the mist, walking until his feet hit the icy water that alerted him of the shore of the lake. It would be so easy just to keep walking, to just let the water surround him and rid him of this awful world forever. But he had a job to do first- yes, his task was most important at the moment. His sulking could wait for later.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming his nerves.

He couldn't do this, he just could not do this. It was always supposed to be the other way around: Christine was to come bury him when he had passed, not this, not this. He shook his head, clearing his head of the thought. He took a shuddering breath and convinced himself to walk around the perimeter of the lake, only stopping when his feet collided with a well. Raising his lantern, he surveyed the patch of dirt surrounding it with disgust. His Christine deserved better than to be buried underground next to a measly water well. Yes, Christine deserved the grandest mausoleum France had ever seen; but Erik neither had the energy nor the will power to sculpt her one.

She was doomed to rest forever in his underground prison.

Christine would never forgive him if she knew that her final resting place was five cellars below the opera house. She would be quite mad...quite mad...

Erik flinched as he struck the ground with the shovel, breaking the earth with a 'crunch'. He heaved the shovel up and stuck it in again, throwing the dirt over his shoulder. His thoughts grinned in his head. He shouldn't be digging a grave, not for Christine.

If anything the grave should be for him- he wanted to die.

The shovel dug into the earth again as Erik ground his teeth together.

Yes, he should be the one dead, not his darling songbird- why did life have to be so cruel?

Erik kept digging and digging, each plunge plummeting his foul mood deeper and deeper into despair. Finally, he stopped, too distraught to continue. He threw down his tool and dropped to his knees, clutching the loose dirt around him to his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes until he could no longer see. With a jerk, he pulled the mask from his face and threw into the hole that he had dug.

He stared at the insufferable mask, cursing it- perhaps it was the reason Christine had drunk the poison, perhaps it was his fault after all-

It was an accident! His mind cut him off. Nothing but an accident, just an innocent coincidence...

He let out a heavy sigh and let his eyes travel from his mask to the shovel, the point glinting in the light of his lantern. He inched towards the sharp edge, delicately feeling it with the tips of his fingers. It wouldn't be so hard, and it would be over quickly. A sharp jab in the chest would do- and then he could be with his Christine forever! His strange, demented mind rather liked the idea.

But then who would bury poor Christine?

Erik pursed his lips, thinking, but ultimately removed his hand and stood back up to resume his work.

As he dug this time, however, he spent his time making a list in his head of his priorities:

 _Dig the grave...bury Christine...kill yourself..._

He repeated these things over and over in his head until it became his mantra; keeping him going like the beating of his own heart. With this new found motivation, he picked up the pace, anxious to finish digging so that he could get on with his life.

Or what was left of it at least.

For without Christine, what life was there that was worth living?

With a final heave, he threw down his shovel. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he then inspected the rectangular ditch before giving an approving nod. It was not his best work, and Christine truly deserved better, but he was so exhausted he simply could not stand to carry on any longer. He picked up his lantern and made his way back to his house where his next task awaited him.

The one he dreaded the most.

Burying Christine.

He froze at the door handle, seriously considering skipping this step and going straight to the final one, but he owed Christine this much. If he couldn't give her a proper funeral, he could at least give her a decent burial. With much reluctance, he creaked open the door. He deposited his lantern on the small in table and made his way through the front foyer.

And then the living area.

And then the hallway.

And then the bedroom door.

Erik laid a hand against the door, secretly hoping that the whole day had been nothing but a nightmare and when he opened the door Christine would be sitting there, waiting for with open arms. A small smile dared to toy at Erik's lips at the thought. How many times had he taken that sight for granted?

But he knew he had to face reality and come to terms with what had happened- but why try when it was so much easier to pretend it never happened? Erik squeezed his eyes shut, shaking from anger and nerves. He flung the door open, deciding to get it over with. He walked blindly in the dark, feeling his way over to the bed since he was set on keeping his eyes shut. His hand landed on Christine's bodice and he felt the slightest rise and fall of her chest. He cracked an eye open.

Christine was still lying motionless on the bed, just as dead as when he'd left her.

But he could have sworn she had breathed...

He took his hand away from her torso, backing away slowly. Perhaps she was in a coma and he had only thought her to be dead? But he had felt her go limp, watched her exhale her last breath, she was dead!

It was merely a figment of your imagination and own false hope, you old fool. His thoughts scolded him.

Shaking his ridiculous fantasy away, he came near her again, peering down at her. She looked as if she were simply sleeping- and oh how he wished that she were! His eyes trailed down her night gown...he was not going to bury her in nothing but her nightgown, that was for sure. Christine wouldn't have wanted that.

He thought that only one dress would be fitting.

He stooped down and began digging through the pile of dresses he had thrown in the floor just hours ago until he found the most beautiful of them all:

Her wedding gown.

He picked it up and carried it back over to Christine. Carefully, he tugged the nightgown off her. he told himself he shouldn't look, but he couldn't help from letting his eyes trail up her nearly bare form. After all, she was his wife and it wasn't as if he hadn't seen it before- and this was the last time he would ever see such beauty ever again. However, he pulled himself together and dressed her in her wedding dress; taking care to lace up the strings in the back and made sure the skirt was unruffled. He then bundled her up in the thin quilt that had been draped over her. Satisfied with his work, he slipped his arms under her frail body and lifted her with ease. Her arms limply hung by her side even though she was still wrapped in her quilt. Quickly, he cradled her head as if she were a babe, for he couldn't stand to watch her precious face flail around as he carried her to her final destination. He gazed down at her, tears once more breaking the surface. He bent his head and shakily pressed his lips lovingly to her forehead.

And then he began his journey to her grave.

Their final journey together.

Erik fumbled with the door handle, but managed to get it open. The mist still surrounded the lake, but now it seemed thicker, as if it were fog. Erik was briefly reminded of the time he had taken Christine to London. She had adored it, claiming that she wished she could stay there forever, and though he hated to think about it, he thought it was most appropriate that her final send off happened to resemble one of her favorite places.

"Christine, London is in your front yard," Erik whispered as if Christine could hear him.

Erik continued on his way, now struggling to see through the misty atmosphere. He desperately needed to swipe away the fog so that he could see where he was going, but his feet seemed to know without him truly concentrating on his destination.

To think, this was the last time he would ever hold Christine, ever talk to her, ever see her...

The mere thought tore him in two.

The outline of the well was barley visible and Erik very nearly stepped right into the hole that he had dug, but missed it by a few inches. He looked around himself and then down at Christine.

"You must forgive me, for I have no coffin to put you in. I have no time to make one and my own is not worthy enough for you. Please forgive me..." he trailed off as he set her gently on the ground.

He picked up the quilt that covered her and wrapped it around her snugly. With one last kiss on her cold, pale lips, he lowered her into her grave. His eyes were set on her for a very long time, not wanting to look at anything else ever again.

Perhaps he would crawl in with her, there was enough room- it was a large hole after all, and it would be less disturbing for the poor Daroga when he came a calling to find them already buried than a bloody mess in the living room. Erik went step in, but stopped.

If he were in there with her, how would he cover their bodies with the dirt?

His plans were becoming continually more frustrating.

Huffing, he stepped away from the grave and picked up the shovel that he had left there earlier. He got a scooped up a shovel full of dirt and flung it into the hole.

He could've killed himself right then and there.

He was burying Christine.

Reality was a cruel mistress.

He scooped and threw dirt into the grave as fast as he could manage, wishing nothing more than to get the job over with so that he no longer had to dwell on the subject at hand. At last the grave was piled high with dirt and looked no more suspecting than a patch of uneven earth.

Erik set the shovel down beside the grave so that he could find it again when he brought her flowers. Perhaps he'd even have time to carve her a small wooden cross before he finished the final step of his list. He turned to leave when something caught his eye.

The dirt had shifted.

He whirled around, but all was still.

Too much trauma in one day was causing him to loose his right mind he concluded.

Slowly, he set off back to his house. He walked for a moment before the mist had gotten so thick that he could hardly see a foot in front of him, but he had no trouble seeing what was happening right in front of his eyes.

The mist was no longer standing static in the air, rather it was swirling around, a strange blue glow to it-

 _Erik_...

He froze.

And then ran the entire way back to his front door.

He hated his imagination today.

Erik stepped into his house, but it no longer seemed inviting- instead it seemed cold and dank, exactly the way it was before Christine had come into his life.

Erik scrunched his eyebrows together, then set off for his bedroom.

The gas lamps burned low in the hallway. Strange seeing as there was no one else , but Erik didn't seem to think anything much was strange at the moment. He reached the entrance of his chambers and wrenched the door open. He was greeted by the familiar sight of his treasured belongings: his organ, his compositions, his coffin...

He would be using it very soon he mused.

But his eyes were drawn to a small shelf to the right of the room. Erik gasped and was at it in a heartbeat. The collection of his strange Persian potions and poisons that he had accumulated over the years were spread out across the floor. An idea coming to mind, he sorted through them all, desperately looking for the one that he knew would do the job, and do it well. Perhaps he had some arsenic on hand if he looked hard enough.

But he stopped when he felt something dripping from his hand.

He lifted his hand to see a clear ooze and followed the trail to bottle that been shattered in all the chaos.

It was the exact substance that had killed his Christine.

Just exactly what it was he was unsure, a concoction that he had managed to steal during his time with the gypsies. How he managed to sow it away and keep it safe all these years he did not know, but he did know that whatever the little bottle had held was swift and deadly. Able to kill a person within minutes if enough was taken. It would have been very useful in the courts of Persia had he remembered about it then. He picked up the fragmented remains, cradling them in his hands. There was still enough left in the nooks of the pieces and if he licked his hands...

Perhaps it would be romantic, tragic even, to go out the same way as his precious wife.

He lifted his hand to his mouth, ready to taste death-

 _Dong_!

Erik jerked his head up.

 _Dong_!

A very loud clock was tolling its bell, alerting all those who dared to listen, of the time. However, Erik owned nothing but a simple mantle clock that hardly managed to let out a chirp at a quarter past five on a good day. There was no way the sound was coming from it, and Erik knew for a fact that the nearest clock tower with a bell was a good distance away, but the volume of this one was very close. Incredibly close.

Too close.

So loud in fact that Erik brought his hands up to cover his ears to protect them from the atrocity of the noise.

This could not be ignored.

Erik got to his feet to seek out the source of the noise, counting each dong as it sounded.

 _One...two...three...four._.. _five...six...seven_... _eight...nine..._

Eleven on the dot if he counted the two before.

He sped up, reaching his living room in record time. His mantle clock was still in place, the hands pointing exactly where they should be. As comforting as this was, it still didn't explain how on earth he could hear the bell tower all the way in his cellar home. Shrugging it off, he grabbed a book and turned to take a seat in his sitting chair to clear his mind before going back to what he was doing. After all- it wasn't like he'd ever have another chance to sit in his chair again after he was through-

 _Dong_!

Erik's eyes flew open.

The hands of the clock were pointing at half past eleven.

Yet only a moment ago it had been the top of the hour...

Perhaps he had fallen asleep by accident, yes that was the reason. It must be the reason, he had dozed off unknowingly and-

 _Dong_!

The clock now showed a quarter to midnight.

Something was wrong. He could feel it. Something was just...off. He hadn't fallen asleep this time, he knew that for certain. He was wide awake this whole time and had just watched that clock jump fifteen minutes forward!

Erik settled back into his chair, grabbing a book, the underground house by the lake utterly quiet now that the clock had ceased its cursed dinging. His eyes read the same paragraph over and over again, his mind refusing to focus. He slammed the book shut, unable to read another word. He began to get up, deciding that he had stalled long enough on the task he had set out to do-

 _Dong...dong...dong...dong...dong_... _dong...dong...dong...dong_... _dong...dong...dong.._.

Time froze.

The hands on his mantle clock stopped dead at midnight.

Erik slowly rose from his chair, glancing suspiciously around. His eyes locked with his front door.

There were scratching noises coming from the other side of it.

Erik, not being a cowardly person, swallowed and stood all the way to his feet. He took a few cautious steps towards the door.

 _Bang_!

He jumped back.

Something was outside of the door.

Regaining his composure, he reached out for the door handle and opened the door. Mist now completely engulfed the lake, and a strange blue glow made the air seem to blur. He stepped outside into the mist, struggling to see.

All of his breath caught in the back of his throat.

Coming through the mist was a figure, a figure with as much elegance as a queen, headed right for him. He attempted to run, but found that he was frozen to the spot where he stood, completely helpless. With no other choice, he continued to observe the figure that was continually coming closer to him.

It was very obviously a woman and she had long matted curls falling around her shoulders. Her dress appeared to be ripped and covered with filth. How the hell had she found her way to Erik's domain he did not know, but Erik was feeling more uneasy with each passing second. He looked closer, daring to take another step forward.

But then he saw it.

This was no random harlot who had happened upon his doorstep, no he knew this woman. Extremely well he might add.

He willed for his feet to move, prayed for them to move so that he could flee, but he remained still, frozen as the woman came closer. His eyes widened with shock as the cry echoed off the wall:

"Erik! I have returned!"

He could have fallen dead right there. _Should_ have fallen dead right there.

There, standing in front of him was Christine, mere feet from him, her arms stretched out to him. Christine! His Christine just as alive as she had been that morning. He had just buried her, and yet here she stood in front of him. He walked forward, ready to take her into his welcoming arms, but stopped as he got a better look at her. She hadn't been dead but for a few hours, yet her skin was peeling from her face, giving a skeletal look about her and underneath her skin, there was the same blue glow that hung in the air.

He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I promised you I would return to you, and I always keep my promises, Erik..." She said as she approached him.

"C-Christine?" Erik managed to choke out, suddenly wishing nothing more than for her to return to her grave.

He should be thrilled, ecstatic that his late wife was standing alive in front of him, but he couldn't bring himself to be glad. The figure that stood before couldn't be his wife, this was a corpse! Nothing but a talking corpse! His wife was dead, and he had buried her. But isn't this what he had wanted? Christine alive again?

Alive, yes, but not in this way.

He could find no emotion in him other than pure terror for the woman that he had spent years loving. Nothing but pure, utter terror.

She was now only inches from his face.

Erik found the will to back up to the front door.

"I do not understand- why do you shrink from me? Are you not pleased?" she stopped in her tracks, a tear glimmering in her eye. Could corpses cry? Erik didn't know, nor did he care.

"I could not be your living bride Erik, it was not meant to be, but I can be your eternal one..." she held out a decaying hand to him. "Join me, Erik."

Erik violently shook his head.

"No? But-" she sniffed the air. "Why you were intending on doing the deed yourself! How thoughtful of you, Erik."

"I've no idea what you're talking about..." If he could stretch just a bit farther behind him he could reach the door knob and find refuge inside. But, if Christine could talk surely she could open a door...he would have to barricade it-

"No idea? But I smell the poison, my dear. It's on your hands- the same kind that stains me." She had a hand on his shoulder, baring down.

Erik could no longer move, his feeble attempt to escape having been all but forgotten.

"It made me stronger, stronger than I ever was-"

"But you're dead," Erik breathed, unable to think of anything to say.

"Dead, but alive. So very, very much alive," Christine said before he could utter another word. "That bottle held a powerful substance, Erik, a _curse_ for the ages. I believe it was created with the black magic that your gypsies so loved. You see for between midnight and dawn, I may roam free...between midnight and dawn- I am yours."

Erik tried to jerk away, fearing for his life as she came closer. She ripped away his mask, so as to see him fully. She was so close he could feel her breath down his neck.

It was revolting.

"Join me. It's painless, I promise, like falling asleep...be a good husband, join your wife..."

She reached her hand out again, and he considered taking it as he stared into her blue eyes that glimmered the same ominous blue as the rest of the mist around them. Yes, he thought about giving in and joining Christine in the only way he could- but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he managed to turn his head away, but Christine caught his jaw in her grasp and forced him to face her.

" _You may kiss your bride_..."

And she planted her pale, dead lips on his own.

Erik struggled for a moment before going still, eyes frozen open and held in Christine's arms.

The mist covered them and turned a pale blue before beginning to lift, leaving nothing but a pile of dust. The only remains of the two souls who were caught forever between the midnight and the dawn.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
